What I Find For Myself
by SirPrickles
Summary: Jemima's romance with Pouncival takes a similar turn to that of Bombalurina and the Rum Tum Tugger's at the Jellicle Ball. Rated "T" for suggestive themes, although it's pretty safe.
1. Chapter 1

Jemima yawned widely and stretched out, from the tips of her nails through the arch in the back to the tip of her tail.

She tucked her knees and elbows back underneath her and put her chin on her paws. The shade of the large black drain-pipe was cool and relaxing. Safely out of the heat of the sun-drenched junkyard, she could finally take a nap.

And she needed it. Jemima's nose twitched under her drooping eyes. Her ribs ached from a "sneak attack" a certain very annoying tom-kit had planted on her. She was glad she could find shade and seclusion at the end of this pipe, which wrapped unexpectedly from the middle of the junkyard under the piles of junk and ended up at the southernmost end of the junkyard. Nobody expected it, and few of them were small enough to go through the pipe to its other end.

Misto knew, of course; in fact, it had been he who showed the pipe to her and Victoria. But Victoria promptly forgot, so Jemima kept the information to herself to secure a hiding space.

And boy, did she need it.

She, along with Electra and Etcetera, was coming of age at the next Jellicle Ball in two months' time. And things had gone (for lack of a better term) crazy.

Not just things. Jemina's brow wrinkled. Certain tom-kits too. Plato, for instance. He'd become just a little bit overbearing. You couldn't walk by anymore without him interrogating you; wanting to know why and where and how, acting like he was Munkustrap and you were up to something very Rumpleteazer-like.

Sure, he was the oldest and the biggest of the new toms, but Jemima certainly didn't think that gave him reason to act like the Supreme Lord of the Junkyard. Even Alonzo told him off for being a self-righteous ass, and if anyone had self-righteous ass covered it was Alonzo.

Jemima blushed slightly, thinking of Alonzo. Then her thoughts drifted back to the annoying toms. Tumblebrutus, too, was acting crazy. He was tumbling, and hand-springing, and jumping and leaping and bouncing all of the time. He took especial pains to flip over Etcy and Ele and land in front of them with a smile. He also seemed to expect some kind of praise and took it very harshly the other day when Electra, who had been fairly frightened by his sudden appearance, yelled at him for being a "hyper-active jerk."

And Pouncival…

Jemima shuddered. She did not want to start thinking about Pouncival. He was the craziest of the bunch. Always the prankster, the class clown, the attention hog, he had taken to being—well—more annoying.

Especially to her, Jemima.

He would sprinkle water on her head, and then shuffle up extreme amounts of dust; bump into her every chance he got (which was bad: she was tiny and nearly knocked over every time) or, the worst thing, "sneak attack" her.

Which basically comprised of him tackling her whenever she was unsuspecting and yelling, "Sneak attack!" in very, very loud voice. To make matters worse, he did it at least ten times a day. Jemima wondered how she could still be caught so off-guard.

She liked Pounce; really, she did. He was funny and clever and playful. But it was just too much!

Jemima squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn't fool enough not to know what it probably meant. With her big brown eyes she could see the way Pounce's face lit up when she laughed at his jokes. She had an inkling of how he felt.

But she forced the memory of his merry face out of her brain. She didn't want to deal with that sort of thing. A grown-up thing. Jemima shivered.

The slower these two months went by, the better.

Voices fell on Jemima's ears. She sat up. The voices were awfully close. Her pert little ears strained to recognize them.

She thought no one else knew about this area!

She focused on the first voice, a male voice; drawling and careless, but with a bright ring to it. The second voice was softer and sultry.

Jemima held her breath and peered out of the pipe.

The Rum Tum Tugger was there. Only a few feet away from him stood Bombalurina, smiling in a rather seductive manner. It was clear they were having a lover's walk, or something like that.

Jemima shrank back into the pipe. It appeared they were moving in her direction. She hoped the shadow inside the pipe was dark enough to hide her. She flattened herself against the cool metal floor.

"It's quite a mouthful," Tugger said, striding a few steps ahead of the red queen. "Bom-ba-lu-ri-na. That's five syllables."

Bomba cooed, "Ooo, I'm so impressed. The Rum Tum Tugger can count."

He smirked and ignored the slight.

Bomba continued, "But your own name is five syllables."

"Oh?" he said.

"Yes! The-Rum-Tum-Tug-ger—five, exactly!"

"Well, I do like syllables."

"What's this?" she teased, "Are you admitting to _liking_ something? How unlike you."

"I only like," he spun around suddenly and sang, mimicking his performance at the last Jellicle Ball, "what I find…for myself…"

Bombalurina stopped dead. Tugger closed the distance between them. In a heartbeat he had her pressed against him.

"Well, that's not a pleasant memory," Bomba said, a bit coldly. She made to move his arms but they encircled her waist. She glanced up at him.

Tugger shrugged nonchalantly, as though he weren't holding her captive.

"What exactly are you doing, Tugger?"

His finger moved up to trace down her forehead, over her nose, and circle her lips.

Her lips parted ever-so-slightly. Jemima held her breath.

Tugger was looking down at Bomba in bemused concentration. Bomba stared up at him with a mix of uncertainty and longing. The moment seemed to last for a long, tense time.

He sneered. "Nah."

Bomba pushed away, clearly fuming. But Tugger didn't let her get far—he kept his hold on her waist and pulled her back and planted a kiss on her angry lips. He tightened his grip and deepened the kiss.

Jemima felt awfully intrusive.

They finally broke apart. Bomba blinked her wide amber eyes at the tall, maned tom. "You really are a curious cat."

He grinned. "A curious beast." The suggestive rumble on the word "beast" made Jemima's stomach flutter.

Bomba slowly pulled away. She was smiling again, but it was a soft, uncertain smile. She held out her paw.

Tugger took it, sliding his fingers through hers.

Bomba bit her lip, seemingly unable to find words. Tugger tossed his head to the right, and they continued walking, neither one speaking.

Jemima held her breath until they had disappeared around the southern gate. She clambered to the edge of the pipe and peered around. They were gone.

Jemima wasted no time. She didn't know it they'd come back. She hopped down from the pipe and ran, a quickly as she could, in the opposite direction.

She made it almost back to the main junkyard area when she sensed something familiar coming her way.

"Sneak attack!" Pounce said, bursting out from behind a pile of old radiators. He blocked her path and caused her to skid to a stop. His arms were spread wide and he was grinning wildly.

Jemima gasped for air. She'd been running nonstop, and Pounce had managed to surprise her yet again. She panted, trying to replace lost oxygen.

Pounce lowered his arms. He was used to Jemima having a more enthusiastic, although not always positive, reception for him. "What's the matter, Jem? You okay?"

Jemima nodded quickly. She didn't want him worrying; she was merely out of breath. But one glance up at his face showed that he already was.

"It's nothing, Pounce. I just ran all the way from…" her voice trailed off. No reason to let him know about her hiding place. Although it wasn't nearly as hidden as she'd like.

"Switzerland?" he suggested brightly.

But she didn't find it funny.

Pounce sighed. "Boy, Jem, you are in a moody…mood. Been stuck around Plato lately?"

"No!" Jemima resented being called "moody" simply because his joke wasn't funny. That was not her fault. "No, I've just been…sleeping."

"A good sleep?" Pounce asked courteously.

"Well…" she trailed off again.

Pounce stepped around her. "You're awfully flushed, Jem. You sure you're all right?"

"Fine!" she snapped. Instantly she regretted it. Pouncival blinked in surprise. It was unlike her to be anything but sweet and happy.

Maybe it was this whole coming-of-age thing. Maybe it was what made you tense and unlike yourself. Changes. That sort of thing.

Jemima flushed. Pounce had the good sense not to say anything more about it. "So, Jem. What you doing all alone? You're usually with Victoria or stuck with Cori and Tanto. Are you playing hooky?" His grin was rather infectious. Jemima felt a small smile twitch at her lips.

"I was just being alone. No harm in that, right?"

"None whatsoever," he agreed. "That's why I have my chair all to myself."

He added, "If you want to use it, for being alone and stuff like that, please go ahead. I can even show you my other hiding spot."

Jemima felt like this was uncharted territory. Pounce was being unusually mature. She found that she liked him like this.

"I'll even give you a boost to get you up on the chair."

Jemima protested, "I'm not that short!"

"You're tiny!" he exclaimed, eyes full of mirth.

"Stop it, Pounce! That's rude!"

He snorted. "No; what's rude is that Bombalurina didn't even say hi to me today."

Jemima looked pointedly at Pounce. He shrugged. "She's always nice to me."

"That's dangerous," Jemima said, frostily. "Considering that you have the biggest crush on her."

"I do not!" Pouncival exclaimed.

Jemima didn't respond. She had noticed it years ago. Everybody knew it.

"Of course," Pounce said, tapping his chin in thought, "if she was interested, I wouldn't say no—"

Jemima didn't like hearing this. "She's with Rum Tum."

"Oh. Him." Pounce's voice was oddly flat. Jemima looked curiously at him. Usually he (and all the other young toms) worshipped Tugger as a god. They would try to be just like him.

"Well, he's not really with her. He's all around." Boy, Pounce sounded argumentative. And he was eyeing her suspiciously.

Jemima stifled a laugh. "I promise you, Pounce, they are together."

He shrugged. "Maybe yes, maybe no. Wait, does this mean that he'll stop—"

Pounce made an obscene gesture with his hips and sneered at Jemima.

She had to laugh. Pounce's Tugger impression was spot-on.

He grinned wildly and sashayed around Jemima. She kept laughing. He rubbed up against her and crooned, "But I only like what I find for myself…"

One arm wrapped around her waist. Jemima tilted her head back as far as she could to look into his gray eyes.

Up close, they seemed unsure, holding back.

His finger traced up her throat to her lips.

"What I find for myself," he sang softly, finger still hesitating on her bottom lip.

Jemima's heart pounded so hard she was surprised everyone didn't hear it and come rushing over. She could feel Pounce's chest moving heavily against her back, the heat where their bodies were touching and the chill where they weren't.

She blinked slowly, still gazing up into his eyes. They were intense; but inscrutable. They held her transfixed. She couldn't move if she wanted to, and wasn't at all sure that she did.

"No," Pounce breathed suddenly, and stepped away. Jemima waited, but he shook his head and strode off into the main junkyard. He headed for his rocking chair and easily shoved Tumble out of his way, laughing as Tumble fell on Plato. He didn't look back.

Jemima felt very cold, although the sun was blazing. She walked stiffly into Jennyanydots' den and curled up in her pillow before bursting into noisy tears. What had just happened to her?


	2. Chapter 2

"Jemi? Jemi! Jemi! Jemi!" Etcetera chanted excitedly, bouncing on the floor of Jenny's den.

Jemima cracked open a bleary eye. "Etcy, Etcy, Etcy," she responded, with nowhere near as much enthusiasm.

Electra came up behind her. "C'mon, Jemi! Let's talk about the Ball." It was all the queen-kits ever wanted to talk about.

"The Ball!" Etcy exclaimed. She bumped into Electra and they both rolled over on the floor, giggling madly. Electra's knee hit Jemima square in the chest.

"Oh! Sorry!" Electra gasped. Etcetera was unable to stop giggling.

Jennyanydots bustled out of the back room. "Girls! Please. Use your inside voices. Skimbleshanks is sleeping! And so is—"

But once glance showed Jemima was no longer sleeping. Jenny padded over and put a paw on Jemima's cheek. "Oh, you poor thing. You still look flushed. Are you feeling any better?"

"I'm fine, Mama," Jemima fidgeted. Etcy and Ele were gazing at her with sober eyes. She didn't want them to think she was sick, or feel bad for waking her up. After all, how much more time did they have to be excitable kittens?

"Well," Jenny said, in a business-like tone, "then you should go outside and play with the girls. Step to it, now."

Jemima got off her pillow and followed Etcy and Ele out of the door.

"And remember!" came Jenny's sing-song voice. "Uncle Skimble is sleeping!" Jenny took no pains to make sure her mate was taken care of.

Once they were safely out of earshot, Electra asked Jemima, "Are you really feeling sick?"

"We're so sorry," Etcetera blurted, mortified. "We didn't—we would never have woken you up!"

"No, no," Jemima protested. "I feel fine. I was just a little—um—sun-stroked yesterday."

Ele nodded eagerly, but Etcy still looked chagrined.

Jemima said brightly, "Well, let's talk about the ball!"

This statement caused both kittens to giggle anew.

"Who would you go with, if you could go with anyone?" Electra asked.

Jemima felt a chill. "Oh, I don't know. What about you?"

Electra gave her a withering look. "Tugger, of course."

"Tugger!" Etcy exclaimed, completely restored.

"The Rum Tum Tugger," Electra purred seductively.

Jemima suddenly felt very tired. Tired of these questions, the gossip, the little games they had always played. She was tired of Ele and Etcy pretending—or actually thinking—that Tugger was an option.

He had always been there as a temptation, a daydream, a forbidden desire. He had even encouraged their infatuation. But it was always that: an infatuation.

Jemima was certain that Bomba loved Tugger, in a way that was nothing like a queen-kit with a crush. In a way that they couldn't yet understand. In a way that was real and adult and for good. And she was just as sure that that was what Tugger wanted in the end; not silly hyperventilating kittens.

Jemima's train of thoughts was interrupted by Victoria gliding over to them. She smiled happily. Victoria was still her best friend, even though she had gone through the coming-of-age at the last Jellicle Ball.

Victoria stretched gracefully before perching between Jemima and Electra. "Hi, Girls."

"Vicky!" Etcetera exclaimed, nuzzling her half-sister. Victoria nuzzled back. She rubbed against Jemima in greeting. Jemima shot her a look saying, "Please; let's talk alone later."

Victoria nodded subtly and turned to Electra, rubbing shoulders with her. Since Victoria was a full-blown queen, they hadn't been hanging out like they used to. She had gained this mystique of maturity, besides; she had been inseparable from her mate, Mr. Mistoffeles.

"It must have been so _easy_ for you, Vicky," Etcetera sighed.

Victoria's sweet blue eyes opened wide. "What do you mean? My Ball?"

Electra picked up on Etcetera's train of thought: "No. Yes. We mean your mate. You and Misto were always meant to be together. You were always in love."

"Well," Victoria hesitated. "We were always friends. But when I was about to go to my Ball, I was confused. Plato started being really nice to me, and he was coming of age too, and I thought that maybe I should give him a chance. You see," here she blushed, "I wasn't sure Misto thought of me in that way. He's older, for one thing. And he'd always been so friendly—just friendly. I thought he had his eye on someone else, so I thought that maybe Plato was the one for me." She laughed softly.

Jemima shook her head. She'd never thought that for one second. Victoria was clearly in love with Misto. And it had been abundantly clear to Jemima that Misto always wanted Victoria. But their friendship stood in the way. Neither wanted to risk it.

But, on the bright side, the thought of Victoria with Plato had caused Mistoffeles to declare his love in a truly spectacular fashion. And once Victoria heard that, there was no more hope for Plato.

Jemima smiled. She did love happy endings. And though Plato had gotten it rough, Jemima didn't feel too sorry for him. She had a hunch he had his eye on another almost-queen, as they spoke…

"Oh, Ele, there's Plato." Etcetera spoke in a disapproving voice. "He won't leave me alone! I swear, I'm not up to anything! Why won't he believe me?"

"And Tumble," Electra groaned.

Jemima nudged Victoria. They both snuck away, leaving Etcy to argue with Plato while Ele fended off Tumble.

"Jemi, you look…" Victoria stared at her small friend. "Heartbroken."

It was a simple word. But it caused Jemima to feel exactly that.

"Vicky," she sniffed. She dashed a tear from her eyes with her left paw.

Victoria lay on her stomach and waited for Jemima.

Jemima said, softly, "I don't know what to say."

"Well, who's done this to you? Alonzo?"

"Alonzo!" Jemima had forgotten all about him. That crush seemed as far away as the one on Tugger.

"Not Alonzo," Victoria murmured. "Misto was right."

"Why? What did Misto say?" Jemima knew she sounded wretched.

Victoria wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "He thought you were having a little trouble with Pouncival."

At the sound of Pouncival's name, Jemima broke. Hearing it caused a sharp pain in her gut.

"I don't understand, Victoria," she said, covering her face with her paw. "We've always just been friends. He's—he's—just Pounce. Funny, and light-hearted, and a terrible prankster."

"Sneak attack!" Victoria yelled dramatically.

Jemima laughed through her sniffles. "Exactly. But yesterday, we were talking and—"

She felt hot and embarrassed. How could she describe the heat, the yearning? The ache when he held her? It sounded terrible in her head. Wrong.

"Did he kiss you?"

"No!" Jemima sobbed. "That's the whole thing. I thought he was going to, but he just—he just—"

"Did what Tugger did to Bomba?" Victoria said wisely.

Jemima stared at her friend. Sometimes, Victoria was a lot shrewder than she let on. "Yes," she admitted.

"Ah."

"Vicky, what do I do?"

"Well," Victoria said, calmly, "Do you like Pounce? Like-like Pounce?"

"I think so," Jemima whispered. This didn't feel like a crush. This felt like more than a crush. There was an intensity that thrilled her. She could imagine being with Pounce, right beside him. Despite his frivolous attitude, he clearly had a deeper side. She could stay by that. It intrigued her. It pulled from her deeper, more complicated feelings than she'd ever had before.

It scared her.

Mistoffeles came over to join them. Victoria jumped up to greet him. Their smiles, to Jemima, shone brighter than the sun.

"Jemi," Misto said, nuzzling her. Jemima smiled shakily. Misto noticed, but merely sat across from Victoria at Jemima's left side. "You look fine and healthy. I see the reports of you being deathly ill are highly exaggerated."

Jemima still had a hard time managing a smile, but she did appreciate Misto's sense of humor. "Thanks."

"You'll never guess what I came across," he said to them, eyes twinkling.

Victoria thought. "Alonzo without a mirror?"

Jemima laughed. Victoria continued, "Tugger with a bad mane?"

Misto grimaced. "That's a lot more common than everyone thinks. And it's traumatizing."

Victoria and Jemima giggled helplessly.

Misto continued, still grimacing, "When we're at our owners, my human, who is a six-year-old girl, tries to give him baths to make his mane not stick up. Have you ever seen a wet Tugger? I have. It's not pretty.

"But," he said, slyly, "It is about Tugger. Guess who—"

"Bomba," Jemima said.

"Correct. I guess it isn't that unexpected." Misto smoothed his tail fur.

Victoria protested, "I had no idea!"

"And can you guess what they were doing?"

Victoria giggled shamelessly and gazed at Misto in a loaded way. Jemima felt outrageously uncomfortable.

"You guessed," Misto said to Victoria, winking. But he turned to Jemima and changed the subject.

"May I escort you to the Jellicle Ball?"

"What?" Jemima said, shocked.

"My lovely mate and I agree it would be good for you."

Jemima pondered. She knew dating for a Jellicle Ball didn't mean you were mated, although it was considered a good first step. But going with Misto, who was her good friend, who she could trust, seemed like a much more appealing option than waiting for another tom to ask her.

And yet—another tom—

"Can I think about it?"

Misto laughed. "Of course. I do have a back-up plan, if you do say no." He slipped an arm around Victoria, who sighed and laid her beautiful white head on his shoulder.

Jemima smiled, but the ache inside her grew bigger than ever.


	3. Chapter 3

Jemima was sprawled out on top of the big black drain-pipe. The blackness absorbed the heat from the sun and warmed her pale tummy considerably. She sighed and swung her tail, which was dangling free.

She hadn't seen Pouncival in two days. To be fair, she was avoiding him. She didn't know how he felt about her, and was incredibly embarrassed.

They had almost kissed. It had happened. Jemima replayed the moment again in her mind. What had caused him to pull back? Why did he leave her? Why did he walk away?

Was it…her?

Or worse, was it someone else?

Jemima had never really felt jealously before. The queen-kits had all shared in adoration of Tugger. It was a group effort. Even her feelings for Alonzo from before had been purely admiration, overwhelming respect. She wasn't jealous of Cassandra. Cassandra was perfectly sweet to her. Alonzo and Cassandra were good together.

But somehow, Pouncival wasn't like that.

Jemima felt, although she had no right, that Pouncival was somehow, someway, hers.

They'd been so close…

Jemima gritted her teeth in frustration. She closed her eyes tightly. Her heart burned in her breast. She was hurt, and she was angry.

"Pounce," she whispered aloud, as though he could hear her. "Pounce," she said, much softer, biting her lower lip.

Suddenly she was yanked off the drainpipe. A strong grip on her ankle and tail forced her to slide off, into the waiting arms of a large tom. Jemima blinked widely and struggled in surprise. Paws were squeezing her hips, and a tongue touched her lips.

Was this a sneak attack? She wondered frantically. If so, it was a step above and beyond. She felt the familiar thrill in her belly, uncomfortable, but pleasurable too.

"Jemima!" she heard Tugger exclaim. She dropped several feet, and would have hit the ground if he hadn't caught her at the last possible moment.

"Jemima," he said again, sounding horribly guilty. "I thought you were—uh—someone else. Your tail—it's red, you see…"

Somehow Jemima found this amusing. "It's alright, Tugger. I understand. Bombalurina has a red tail too."

He looked down at her shrewdly. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so." He still looked uncomfortable. "Well, I'm really sorry. Although—"he paused, and a familiar glint came into his eye—"I hope you enjoyed it."

Jemima blushed mightily. She'd thought for the slightest moment that it had been a sneak attack, and she welcomed that. But Tugger? That was a little too hardcore for her. Even Etcy or Ele would have been overwhelmed by the fervent desire in his touch.

Still…it hadn't been unpleasant—Jemima was as red as a beet.

Tugger sighed. "So. How are you doing, kid?"

The words shot out of her before she could stop them. "Tugger? Can I ask you something?"

He looked mildly surprised. "Sure, Jem."

"Why did you drop Bombalurina?"

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that. "What?"

"At the last Jellicle Ball. During your song. Why did you drop her, after you said 'I only like what I find for myself'?"

"Oh. I'm a curious cat."

Jemima's huge brown eyes quivered. She looked dangerously close to tears.

"Just because? Just—no reason? Was it because you didn't care about her?"

Tugger looked nonplussed. "What is this, Jem? What does this have to do with—"

Jemima burst into tears.

Tugger was alarmed. "Jemima! No. That's not it. Of course I care about Bomba. It's just—" he shrugged—"you don't want your girl knowing how much you want her."

Jemima blinked owlishly. "What?"

Tugger sat down, leaning against the pipe. He patted the ground beside him. Jemima sat, gingerly. She was sure her eyes were red and puffy and her nose was definitely dripping. Not exactly the state she wanted to be in around the Rum Tum Tugger.

"It's a guy thing," he explained. "Pretending not to want. The same as playing hard to get. Girls do that all the time."

She nodded. She'd seen that before.

"My Bomba does it all the time," he stressed, rolling his eyes. Examining his claws, he asked nonchalantly, "So…by any chance, are you having trouble with a boy?"

"Yes." She didn't even want to deny it. Tugger could help her.

"Well. I should just tell you, right off the bat, expect him to act like an idiot. He'll do everything wrong. He'll definitely make you cry. But the good news is he's doing this because he likes you too much to know what to do about it."

This sounded like good news. But Jemima couldn't just believe it like that. Surely it wasn't that easy. Sure, she'd thought that she could tell Pouncival liked her. But when he had the chance…

"No," she breathed. The ache in her body grew hollow.

Tugger yawned, sticking out his tongue. Like the rest of him, it was awfully long. He rolled his shoulders. "Should've known," he muttered. "Way too light." He glanced back over at Jemima and gave a wry smile. "Listen, Jem: he does like you. But he just doesn't know how to show it."

"He could've kissed me!" Jemima blurted, very indignant.

Tugger's laugh rang out loud over the southern junkyard. "Kissing takes a lot more balls than you think. I think that Pouncival—"he winked and Jemima gaped—"was afraid of rejection."

Tugger got to his feet. He glanced sharply over the pipe. Jemima didn't bother getting up. She wouldn't be able to see over the pipe, even on her tip-toes. Tugger was the tallest tomcat in the yard. She was the shortest kitten.

Bombalurina trotted up, breathless. "Sorry I'm late. Demeter—"

"Demeter," Tugger said offhandedly, as if that one name explained every problem in the world.

Bomba looked displeased at his dismissal. "Please don't start," she said, but sidled over and leaned up to kiss him. Then,

"Oh! Jemi," Bomba was flustered. "What are you doing here, Sweetheart?"

"I was just going," Jemima explained. Tugger winked at her.

"Hard to get," he stressed. Bomba looked at him, doubly confused.

"It's a guy thing."

Bomba looked as though that was the most unhelpful thing she'd heard all day.

"And Jemima?"

She turned back to look at Tugger.

"I guarantee he feels horrible about it."

She gave a small smile and trotted off.

She slowed when she reached the main junkyard. She paused at the place where Pouncival had last sneak-attacked her.

Once again, the heated memory wavered in her mind.

Jemima blinked it away, and headed for Pouncival's rocking chair.

He was there, crouched, as usual. She walked right to the edge of the huge seat. It was level with her nose.

"Sneak attack," she said, softly.

Pounce almost jumped. He blinked disbelievingly. "Jem?"

"I need a boost," she said. Pouncival slid over and took both of her outstretched paws, pulling her up easily. Once up, they both sat, hesitant.

"I heard you were sick," Pounce said, looking worried.

"I'm all better," Jemima said, cheerfully.

"You sure?" After a beat, he crawled closer, staring into her face.

Their eyes connected. Brown into gray. She felt the intensity growing again, but refused to lose herself in it. Her breath was shallow, but controlled. She was Jemima. She was not easy to get.

Pounce broke eye contact. "Jem. I—I really—I was a prat. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry if I hurt you. I'm so sorry."

"Does this mean no more sneak attacks?" she asked lightly.

"Not if you don't want them," he muttered. "I thought you—well; I thought you were going along with them. Because you liked me." The last part came out in a rush. Pounce bit his lips together and looked at Jemima without much expectation.

"I know I killed it. I know we had something—I felt it! I've been thinking about you for so long, and doing everything I could to get you to like me. And then we had that talk—and then I killed it. I thought I was playing it cool, y'know, like the Tugger. But I knew, as soon as I walked away, that I killed it. And I wanted it so bad."

"Well, yes," she admitted. It had affected her too much to excuse it away, just to spare his feelings.

Pounce turned away. "I'll be going. I know you want to be alone. That's what the chair is for."

"No, Pounce!" Jemima said.

His ears jumped upright. He twisted around to look at her.

"Stay, Pounce," Jemima said. "I'd like to…talk."

His grin was creeping back. "You mean it?"

She hesitated but never doubted. "Yes."

**A/N: There is one chapter to go. Total fluff. Hope you enjoy!**


	4. Chapter 4

Victoria ran a brush through Jemima's chestnut-red-and-black fur. "One more night till the Jellicle ball," she said dreamily.

"I know. It went by so fast!"

Victoria paused to pull a tuft of black out of her fur. "So. Electra gave in to Tumble?"

"He has all the subtlety of a brick wall," Misto called from the other room. Jemima smiled broadly. The white queen scratched her shoulder affectionately.

"And Plato and Etcy..?"

Misto appeared next to Victoria's shoulder. "They were meant to be."

Jemima said, "Surely you don't harbor any bad feelings toward Plato?"

The tuxedo tom shook his head. "Of course not." But with Misto, one could never tell. Jemima suspected he was unduly relieved that Plato had discovered Victoria's sister.

"And you and Pouncival?" Victoria asked, cautiously.

Jemima's heart pounded. She was sure even Victoria could hear it. "Very good, thanks."

"Speak of the devil," said Misto.

Jemima and Victoria both looked expectantly out the den's entrance.

Tugger was passing by, with Bombalurina.

Jemima looked at Misto. He gave that impish smile. "What? I did say 'the devil'."

"Brotherly love," Victoria said, rolling her eyes.

"I reserve the right," Misto said. "He did try to feed me to a flock of pigeons when I was a kitten." Victoria flung her arms around Misto's neck, looking horrified. But Jemima giggled.

"I'm sure he'll get payback when he has kittens of his own."

Misto's face grew dreamy. "And just think of all the things Uncle Mistoffeles and Uncle Munkustrap will teach them…" He sighed happily.

"And Auntie Demeter," Jemima added.

Misto sighed, even more happily.

"Jemi? Are you ready?" Pouncival stood in the doorway, grinning.

She jumped up, knocking the brush from Victoria's paws. "Ready!" She saw Victoria share an amused glance with her mate, but ignored them. She walked over and took Pounce's arm.

They wandered under the twilight moon, which was a yellow crescent showing very brightly against the dark blue sky. Very few stars were out. Pouncival threaded his fingers with Jemima's.

They didn't speak until they reached the large black drain-pipe at the southern end of the junkyard. Pouncival saw it and whistled.

"So this is where you always escaped to."

"I tried," she giggled. "You wouldn't believe how popular this spot is."

"I like it already," he declared, climbing on top of the pipe and reaching to lift her up. She lifted her paw and he pulled her onto his lap. They laughed, a bit awkwardly.

"Sorry, I overshot," Pounce said, scooting to make room.

Jemima settled next to him.

Pounce hesitated, and then slid his arm around her shoulders. Jemima scooted into him, pressed flush against his side. Being small, she fit perfectly under his arm.

They were silent again. But it was a comfortable silence. After a few minutes, Pounce said, "You know, you have the most beautiful voice."

Jemima smiled happily.

"When you sing, I like, can't breathe."

She punched his side. "Well, that's not good."

"No!" he protested, "it just makes my brain melt."

"We can't afford that, either!"

"Smarty-cat," Pounce wrapped his other arm around her. "When did you get so biting?"

"Biting?" Jemima said, feigning shock. "I'm not the one who 'bites', Pouncival."

"True," he agreed. He sighed. "But seriously, my favorite thing is to hear you sing. Well, one of my favorite things."

Jemima blushed more hotly than ever. "We're not mates yet, Pounce."

"Don't I know it," he muttered into her neck."Oh yeah," he added, in a casual tone, "I was wondering..."

His eyes twinkled at her. Jemima waited.

"Would you like to go to the Jellicle Ball with me? Officially? As my mate-I mean, date-or _did _I mean 'mate'?"

"Of course!" she said.

"Wait, as a date or mate?"

"Well, which one did you mean?" Jemima blushed.

"I-" Pounce paused. "Well," he said carefully, "Date for now. And later...well...if you want? I mean, I know I'm kind of an idiot sometimes..."

Jemima chirped, "Yes, Pounce. Yes to all three." She snuggled back into his side.

His crooked grin was the cutest thing she'd ever seen. He leaned back with relief and said,"How did this ever happen? You-me-Heavyside, Jemima, you're practically perfect and you want me..."

She elbowed him. "Oh, stop. I was a mess until I knew you wanted me."

"I do, I do," he assured her, nuzzling her neck again. "Hey, will you sing something for me? It is our two-month anniversary. Dating anniversary. Y'know. And your voice...y'know."

Jemima thought hard. She pulled away from him and slid off the pipe. Facing him, she sang sweetly:

"But I only like what I find for myself…"

Pouncival's grin lit up the night. He jumped down next to her.

"But I only like—" he stepped behind her and wrapped a paw around her waist, the other trailing up her throat—"what I find for myself," he finished softly, finger tracing her bottom lip, gray eyes gazing into brown ones.

The intensity was there, but this time there was no hesitation. Poucival leaned in and claimed her lips with his own.

The kiss was worth the wait. Jemima had never felt something quite so powerful. It drained and filled her at once. But before if could linger, she broke away.

"No," she breathed saucily.

Pounce groaned. "Oh, that's just cruel, Jemi! Really cruel."

She smiled fully and wrapped her arms around his neck, running her paws through his headfur.

"Sneak attack," she said, and went for the kill.


End file.
